


Next Time

by AoKise DaiKi (DigimonDestined)



Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: Alternate Universe - Assassins & Hitmen, Aomine is also pretty ooc, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Kise tho, Love at First Sight, M/M, is a real ooc shit here, smitten Aomine, teiko personalities
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-25
Updated: 2018-02-25
Packaged: 2019-03-23 07:04:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,707
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13782300
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DigimonDestined/pseuds/AoKise%20DaiKi
Summary: “Ao-san, huh?”“I thought it was fitting. Y’know, because your hair’s a nice shade of blue,” The other says airily, conversationally. “So are your eyes.”Aomine chokes, all composure lost.(Fluffy AoKise Assasin!Au attempt. In which Kise is as sly as a fox and gets to confuse Aomine a lot)





	Next Time

**Author's Note:**

> I should warn you all, what lies ahead is a strange, cancerous, nonsensical piece of work that I had fun writing. It's mostly just boring fluff, but there's a fair amount of stupidity, a weird ending, and generally just a lot of confusion of both my end and Aho's. Enjoy!

The fortress isn’t nearly as dark as it should be corresponding to the time. The lanterns dotting the walls in even increments are innocuously weak and more meant for decoration rather actual assistance, but in group effort, they provide Aomine with just enough light to navigate through the unfamiliar hallways with minimal unease.

Aomine wraps his fingers around the balcony railing, lifts himself just enough so he can swing his lower body over, and releases, dropping through air for what feels like just a heartbeat. Then, he hits ground with a muffled thump, his feet smarting unhelpfully even through the thick leather of his boots. But when a stray snip of blond hair freed from a hood catches his vision just before it dips past a corner, Aomine grins. The triumph sparks him to push off the floor, morphing from his crouching position to a lunge before entering a run again, his own hood falling off in succession.

It seems they are following their usual routine; the stranger assassinates one of Aomine’s targets, Aomine catches sight of him, he runs off and escapes-  _but things are going to be different this time_ , Aomine assures himself.

When mischievousness glints in the stranger’s pools of molten gold, Aomine’s throat isn't going to go dry, his name’s not going to fall off his tongue and float out of memory. He’s not going to forget all his moral principles when the blond blinks, long eyelashes fluttering, as alluring as beating butterfly wings. He’s not going to freeze in his footsteps after letting his gaze drop to the other’s mouth when the blond slides a finger to his pink, pouting lips, half asking Aomine to let the air of mystery remain by letting him go, half daring, nay, inviting him to close the distance between them.

And he’s not going to forget all of this when the blond smiles.

Not like the last time. Or the previous one. Or every other encounter.

Even as dark as it is, Aomine marvels over how terribly his yellow hair clashes with the rest of his black outfit, meant to keep the cover of night unperturbed, even as he works the weakening gap between them. The rhythm of his heartbeat guides his feet and the flickers of lighting, his eyes. He ignores the odd little shadows produced here and there by the armored figures stationed by the walls and focuses on throwing himself into the run, right up until the blond ducks into a room at random, throwing a tiny glance over his shoulder.

And goddamn _smirks_.

Aomine can practically feel his pupils dilating. Where there really should be flaring rage for being being seen as an object of amusement, there's just excitement, flighty and juvenile.

He’s met few assassins on par with him, yet never any ‘better’ than him. But this one… his skills, (or more specifically, his dispatch work) speak for themselves. Aomine sees nothing besides limitless potential on the horizon.

Perhaps in the near future, Aomine will meet the other again some other day and aggravate him with an ‘accidental’ push, _ahem_ , and they’ll set off into a fight that will set his blood on fire, have him shake from the adrenaline. Because he’s flint waiting for a strike of steel, something that will send up the sparks that turn the dulling embers back into carnivorous, endless fire. Because Aomine wants a _challenge_ , something that will relight him with will and want, throw him back into the definition of living.

Maybe the stranger- the blond is his chance.

Aomine follows him without a fraction of the fear or hostility he probably should have, cutting his speed until he is simply walking into the room, heart dribbling fast, eyes wide with anticipation.

The blond is sitting on the stout window ledge with one leg crossed over the other and generally angled towards Aomine, though his head is tilted to his right as he looks out casually.

It is unfortunate there is no full moon to envelop his interest in silver, but the darkness suits them better. It reminds Aomine of the circumstances; he’s an assassin and the man in front of them has been stealing his targets and his money.

Under the soft fabric of his cloak, he runs his thumb up the smooth leather of his favourite dagger’s scabbard and over the proud etching of his name. While he has no interest in using it- _wasn’t there some moral myth about the sin of harming an angel_ \- he doesn’t know much about the other. Being prepared for an attack could make the difference between life and death.

Why does that _excite_ him?

Aomine purposely drags the soles of his boots as he shuffles into the room.

The stranger glances over almost indifferently. “Still chasing me, Ao-san?”

Having only been thrice treated to the teasing trickle the other calls his voice, perhaps he isn’t quite immune to the effects- something akin to enjoyment ripples through him. He leans against the door frame casually, trying not to let his true bearings show.

“Ao-san, huh?”

“I thought it was fitting. Y’know, because your hair’s a nice shade of blue,” The other says airily, conversationally. “So are your eyes.”

Aomine chokes, all composure lost.

The blond flashes him a sheepish smile. “Sorry. That must’ve sounded weird.”

He manages a snort. “Just a little.”

The whole situation doesn’t feel like it did a whole minute ago, nor does the character Aomine has pictured in his head. The blond wasn’t some smooth talking seducer who was going to hook him in with charm before attempting to slash his throat open, he was some strange, idiotically bubbly, non-assasin-like dork.

_Or was this a strategy to bring his guard down?_

Aomine clears his throat, but it feels and even sounds like a hiccup. “Do I get your name this time?”

“This time?” His eyes are bright in interest. He shifts, angling himself towards Aomine.

Aomine realizes the unintended implication- _will there be a next time_? “I mean, unless you plan to kill me tonight.” It’s only half a joke; the possibility should be very real, considering their occupations. 

“Thanks for the idea,” The other’s eyes sparkle but he merely gives his head a shake. He recrosses his legs, and his upper foot begins swinging back and forth. “But I’ve got better things to do.”

Aomine frowns. He doesn’t care how weird it is to feel offended, just says, “Better things to do then kill a top tier elite assassin like me?”

“Top tier my ass-” The profanity is playfully scathing and new and surprising, the whole retort helps splinter Aomine’s initial impression of the blond further. “Don’t make me laugh.” He grins easily. “Oh wait, too late.”

“Oi, shut up!” Aomine growls, but there’s no bite to his barking, and he knows it. “I’ll kill you, nay,” His hand falls away from his dagger so he can wiggle a haughty finger. “ _assassinate_ you dead.”

“Uh-huh,” The blond laughs, crystalline, sweet and contagiously enticing, Aomine surrenders to the stupid smile fighting to spread across his face. “So shall I stick with Ao-san? Or do I get the great honor of knowing your real name?”

Sarcasm, _shit- his bane_. Aomine knows he’s done now.

“I asked first,” Aomine challenges because it’s really the only thing he knows how to do at this point.

“And I asked second.”

“Yeah, well _you’re_ a piece of shit.”

The target of his insult bends over, shoulders hunching up as he sniggers like a demented hyena.

“What, not used to people telling you what you are?” Aomine follows up..

“No, that was just so random,” He bursts out, still throwing out peals of laughter. “And it makes no sense.”

 _But you’re laughing_ , Aomine wants to point out. _I made you laugh._ Something warm curls up quite feline-like inside his stomach. _I liked it too._

“Should I wait for you to finish?” He decides to try, “Ki-san? Ki-chan?”

The adapted name sobers up the stranger along with the easy going atmosphere, just as fast as they had appeared. He blinks back at Aomine thoughtfully before tossing out, “Kise.”

“What?” Though Aomine quickly registers it as-

“My name.” Kise waves a hand dismissively. “And you, Ao-san?”

“Aomine.”

“Aominecchi.”

“Whoa!” Aomine yelps, throwing his arms up. “No, what- what did I just hear.” It’s not even a question, it’s- there’s just pure disbelief.

“Nothing,” Kise grins. He jumps off the ledge only to lean back into a space in the wall beside. “ _Aominecchi_.”

“Stop that,” Aomine levels him with a threatening finger. “I can’t understand you, or whatever it is you’re trying to say.”

Kise snorts. “You should take it as a compliment. It means I respect you.” He beams like this confession should mollify him- _and shit, why is it working_? Kise gives his head a little shake and says, “Also, back to our earlier conversation, when you were all, ‘ _Better things to do then kill a top tier elite assassin like me?_ ’,” Kise drops his voice to a ridiculously note that sounds nothing like the sexy baritone Aomine knows he’s got. “You were probably going to say something like, _'give me one'!_ and I just thought of, like, a hundred!”

“Then hit me.”

“For one, I could be thinking about more ways of stealing your clients. For a second, I could be stealing your clients.”

Aomine blinks, surprised in Kise’s open willingness to bring up his original question. “So you admit to being a little shit? I mean c’mon on, all of those people you killed? They were my targets.”

“It’s called undermining, bitch. I mean, Aominecchi.”

Aomine snorts. And even though they’ve only been together in this room for a few minutes, even though they’re strangers, he really feel like he’s starting to really know Kise.

“What, you’ve never heard of it?” Kise shrugs, looking unembarrassed and rather defiantly proud.

His inexorable spirit displayed is another thing Aomine’s finding out about, and finding out he likes.

Kise continues, “You know, we track other offers made to other guilds and then offer a better deal. So then when we do the deed, we end up with-”

“My money,” Aomine frowns petulantly, trying to play himself as merely stingy, trying to ignore the newfound realization that feels like it’s pressing down on him as he sinks into a pit. Because that concept is a signature play of the assassin guild, Royal Kaijo.

Under his cloak, he curls a hand into a fist.

They’re not part of the Teiko Alliance.

 _But… but that doesn't mean we’re enemies_ , Aomine reminds himself. Even in his head, it sounds half-hearted.

He clears his throat, tries to push down these illogical thoughts, and albeit a little forcibly, deadpans, “You should be ashamed for stealing from me.”

“I’m not ashamed of a lot of things, Aominecchi.” Kise favors him with a lopsided smile, kicking off the wall lightly to step forwards. But the inflection in his words is more serious than everything that has been so far.

In the next second, Kise’s golden eyes turn from reasonably playful to unreadable. They sear into his own, searching and unsure, and while Aomine doesn’t know what his own eyes show, but he does know he can’t look away.

Ever so slowly, hesitantly, without letting their locked gazes break, Kise breathes, quiet but with enough hope to fill the room and then some, “Will there be a next time, Aominecchi?”

_Will I see you again?_

“Possibly,” Aomine blurts out. And regrets it immediately- who says goddamn ‘possibility’ to a simple yes and no question? But he’s never been too good with words; thank the gods Kise seems to understand.

His shoulders relax as he smiles, flashing his teeth, golden eyes all warm again. “Okay then. I’ll wait.” There’s a tiny pause that feels insignificant, but then Kise looks away, training his eyes on the ground, pressing his lips together tightly. And Aomine would think this is what his ashamed face looks like, except hadn’t he said, I’m not ashamed of a lot of things, and then that stupid nickname that Aomine didn’t understand why he was starting to appreciate-

Kise reaches for the inner fold of his cloak and Aomine stiffens, involuntarily poising his own fingers in a mirroring position. Kise notices the motion and carefully says, "I'm sorry Daiki,"

_What-_

Aomine’s heart thumps painfully. He jerks upright, the shock cold and true jarring through him, breaking up the shell of warmth Kise had induced over them.

The only people who know his real name are his most trusted guildmates, and occasionally, on two different accounts, assassins sent after him. But Kise is only here for Aomine’s money, not his life-

In one fluid motion, Kise pulls out a short sword unsheathed as long as two of Aomine's daggers from his side and flings it down where it clatters to the ground noisily The flat catches manipulated smidges of their reflections as it slides forwards, still pointed at Aomine, who stands with one hand clenched around the hilt of his dagger in an iron grip, fingers refusing to draw.

His mind is still in disarrayed distress, calling out for answers that won't come and the thought, _he has another weapon,_ doesn't crosses Aomine’s mind, not even when Kise flicks his wrist and a wave of pink buries into Aomine’s forearm and shoulder.

Gasping, he sinks onto one knee unsteadily, head snapped down to see the row of darts protruding up his arm. _Poison,_ is his first thought. Followed by, _damn, this would be a crappy way to go._

At the sound of quiet footsteps, he raises his head again to see Kise approaching and standing before him. “Real fair,” Aomine spits aggressively. “Going to kill me while I’m paralyzed?”.

“Mild sleeping dart, actually,” Kise says, shuffling his feet like he’s nervous. “And that’s... not it, Aominecchi.”

“Don’t call me that,” He snaps. “I don’t know who the hell you are.”

Kise reels back like he’s been slapped. For a reason Aomine doesn’t have the time to begin to comprehend, a pit of guilt drops into his stomach.

Clearly unhappy, Kise exhales in a tight, pitch heightened voice, " _Look_ , yes, I was supposed to kill you tonight. You were my next target.”

Aomine's eyes widen, his shock irrefutable. It is only his subconsciousness that recognizes Kise roughly tearing a hand through his hair as an action of anxiety, before he continues, uncertain and hesitant, “But I really liked talking with- I mean, I really liked you- I guess, what I'm trying to say, is I'd like to see you again." He blinks down at Aomine, his eyes so guilelessly hopeful, emotions unguarded and open for the world to see, Aomine _wants_ to believe him.

But he isn't sure what to think anymore _._ Kise is an assassin _after_ him.

A tiny voice reminds Aomine Kise's skills are devoid of fallibility, completely inexorable. _Yet here he is, alive._

"I'd have to keep you alive for that," Kise is looking at his feet as he babbles away now. "And I guess I'm being pretty presumptuous believing that you want there to be a next time too, but I've gotten accustomed to knowing things to the point of finding everything boring, I kinda like not knowing whether you're going to say-"

"Yes."

Kise blinks, apparently very confused. "Sorry?"

Aomine wants to laugh at the manners clearly ingrained into him, but he's starting to feel drowsy.  _Stupid darts, and real stupid idea, stupid Kise,_ he thinks, while aloud, saying, "Yeah, I'd like there to be a next time. But why the hell would you hit me with a," He pauses to allow a yawn to erupt. "Sleeping dart?"

“I thought it'd be the quickest way to get out of here. I'm really bad at goodbyes.” Kise smiles ruefully, but there's not so much apology as there is joy behind his expression. "I guess this is it, for tonight?"

"No darts next time," Aomine murmurs, dropping into a sitting position. Maybe next time he'll ask Kise how coming back empty handed suited his client, right now, he's much too tired to even open his mouth, much less his eyes.

"Next time," Kise echoes, smiling to himself.

**Author's Note:**

> Lol, I know sleeping darts don't work like that, and half the story doesn't make sense, but I hope you liked it! I'm gonna actually write something realistic after this, I SWEAR.
> 
> And my thoughts are as follows; Kise trapped himself in the room because he wanted to kill Aomine yes, but then he got to know and like Aomine and then decided he didn't want to kill Ao. And being the honest little bean he is, he decided Aomine deserved to know his mission, and then the sleeping dart plays in and then so forth.
> 
> Send me some constructive criticism, my friends!


End file.
